


this must be the place

by janie_tangerine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: ASoIaF Kink Meme, F/M, Marriage Proposal, Post - A Feast for Crows, Wedding Night, Weddings, Wishful Thinking, this never happened and probably never will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-16
Updated: 2012-12-16
Packaged: 2017-11-21 06:52:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/594730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>where Jaime and Brienne do in fact get married.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this must be the place

**Author's Note:**

> this was written *ages* ago at the first round of the kink meme; the prompt was for Jaime and Brienne's wedding night - it also ended up including the proposal. Title from Talking Heads. Nothing belongs to me.

_The day Stannis Baratheon declares that, all things considered, it’s Jaime’s right to walk free as long as he renounces his white cloak, because he surely doesn’t want him in his Kingsguard, Jaime is the most surprised out of the entire audience of his trial._

_He had been sure that he would have to ask for a trial by battle – while he had finally told for the world to hear the real reason why he slaughtered Aerys he was sure that in the end it wouldn’t have helped him. But apparently having found Sansa Stark along with Brienne and having brought her to safety, along with his refusal to side with his sister and with the truth about his kingslaying was enough to counteract for his wrongdoings._

_Well, Jaime will never utter a word against Stannis in his entire life, that’s for sure._

_As he leaves the hall, dumbfounded, he doesn’t even realize that the king’s Hand has run after him._

_When Davos Seaworth tells Jaime that half of the reason why Stannis hadn’t thought about taking his other hand before taking his head had been Brienne, who had requested a private audience with the king the day before, Jaime almost faints._

_When Seaworth leaves him be after saying that if he has something in the castle that he’d like to take with him then it’s time that he went searching for it, he only asks for his sword and some of his clothes, and meanwhile he tries to think over a few things._

_He’s not surprised when after five minutes he has taken the decision. If in the back of his mind there are a couple of voices sounding suspiciously like his sister and his father telling him that he can’t be considering this, he ignores them._

_After he finally gets real clothes and can change out of the rags that he had worn while imprisoned, he heads for the gardens. He has something to do before leaving._

 

It’s probably the least lavish wedding that Casterly Rock has ever seen. The only close relatives present are his aunt and Brienne’s father (who still looks as if he can’t believe that his daughter is willingly getting married – patience if it’s to the man known as the Kingslayer); everyone else is either castle servants or smallfolk or very distant relatives. It’s better like this.

Surely it’s the only ceremony that Casterly Rock has ever seen where the bride wears men’s garb, but they’re good clothes, and the grey breeches and blue tunic suit Brienne a lot more than a gown ever would. Most attendants look baffled at the sight of the bride, and while nice clothes and clean hair go a long way, she hasn’t changed overnight into a beautiful lady. But when she walks up to him, blue eyes staring straight into his and a small, almost shy smile on her lips, he can only think _if all brides looked like this on their wedding day_.

“I might have dreamed of this,” she whispers as he wraps a red and gold cloak around her shoulders with considerable effort – it seems easy to do, but try doing it with one fake hand.

He doesn’t ask whether this lived up to whatever she had thought, and he kisses her instead.

Apparently, the smallfolk appreciates the sight after all, considering that most of them cheer.

\--

There’s no real bedding after the small feast they hold. Jaime figured that Brienne wouldn’t have liked being stripped to her smallclothes by a bunch of men she doesn’t know, and he doesn’t relish the idea either. Especially since it’d mean perfect strangers touching his right wrist and arm – as if he’d need that, too. That said, Brienne would have probably beaten bloody any man trying to even take off her tunic.

(Jaime had made sure that his uncle’s former room had been the one prepared for the occasion – he wasn’t going to do it in what was his parents’s.)

They leave the main hall on their own after the sun sets. He feels strange as he walks up the stairs, mostly because he has spent so long thinking that he’d be in the Kingsguard forever. Inheriting and marrying never was in the plans. Whenever he thinks about it, he still can’t believe his luck.

They’re both quiet as they get inside the room. Jaime turns towards a table in the corner. There are two cups and a skin of the only good red Dornish that was left down in the cellars, and he had figured he’d save it.

“Wench, would you like some? I’m told it’s a pity to pass on this specific one.”

She tries to glare at him, but it lasts exactly two second.

“Fine, I will have it.” She takes the cups before sitting on the bed and he follows her. He pours in silence and finishes the entire cup in one drink. Brienne nurses it for a bit longer instead, and she doesn’t seem to dislike it. When she’s done she stares at his mouth for a moment and raises her hand as if she wanted to reach out and touch him, but then she pulls it back and moves closer instead. Her tongue delicately wipes away a droplet of wine; she seems about to pull away, but he doesn’t let her. He brings his hand up to her neck, turning so that their lips are meeting properly. She kisses back softly, and he wishes he knew why _he_ ’s suddenly feeling somewhat nervous. It should be her – and she probably is, from the tentative way she’s touching him – but that’s not the point.

Mostly, it’s that he wants this to work and he wants to get it right, and he has no frame of reference for this kind of thing.

He moves his left hand down, unlocking the clasp on her cloak. It falls down on the bed a moment later. There’s a moment in which neither of them moves – Brienne is flushing a deep red and he doesn’t know what to do with his fingers anymore, and then he decides that he’s being ridiculous. Seven hells, she’s not going to have second thoughts, not after what she told him when he put the cloak on her shoulders, and he should stop thinking that she might. He kisses her again, breaking the moment of stalling, and she arches up against him almost eagerly. There’s no skill in the way she’s kissing him back, but it’s plain that she wants it, and the moment she moans a little inside his mouth, his cock stirs in his breeches.

He might have been worrying too much.

They’re both breathless when the kiss is over, and her cheeks are still flushed.

“I think we’re both wearing too many clothes,” he says, winking at her. “Should we?”

She nods, her trembling fingers going to his shirt and unlacing it. She doesn’t help him when he attempts to take her tunic off and to unlace her shirt as well, and he’s grateful for it even if it means that it takes more time than it would have otherwise. When they’re both wearing only their breeches, Brienne has somehow ended half on top of him, and he stops her when she attempts to switch their positions.

“Am I not supposed to –” she starts, but he interrupts her before she can say it.

“ _My lady_ , I think that’s completely unnecessary.”

She breathes in sharply when he cups her breast with his left hand just after, and she moans when he runs his thumb under it. It becomes louder when he kisses a spot of freckles on the inner side of it.

“Shouldn’t you – shouldn’t we –” she starts, even if she can’t finish it (either she’s too shy to say it, or he’s making it difficult for her to speak). Jaime doesn’t need her to finish to realize what she means, though.

“Shouldn’t I be fucking you? Not so fast. I don’t know what your septa taught you, but they tend to make it pass as some kind of chore. Gods forbid their precious maids should enjoy it.” He kisses the side of the other breast, running his tongue under it, and she shivers in return.

“There’s no fun in rushing there, wench. It shouldn’t be a chore.”

He curses the lack of a right hand – it’d really have been useful right now – and moves his left down, trailing over her flat, toned stomach. He unlaces her breeches and touches the outside of her smallclothes, and he’s pleased when he finds them wet already. Then he slips a finger under the fabric, not pushing it but still merely touching where she’s damp and she gasps again, a soft, pleased sound that makes his blood rush downwards.

“As you see,” he breathes out, “your position is still excellent.”

“But you aren’t –”

“We have the entire night and I’m not in any hurry,” he cuts her short. Then he slips that finger inside, slow, glancing up at her face to see if it’s welcomed. When he crooks it and makes it slide forward her eyes widen and she bites her tongue, but her hips jerk forward, and Jaime pushes his finger a bit deeper before sliding it out and moving it back inside again. She moans louder at that, her cheeks flushing all over, and he isn’t expecting her to lean down and kiss him again, but he’s more than happy to oblige. While he keeps that first finger inside, he starts rubbing over her clit with his thumb, and the moment she says his name loud enough that anyone in the hallway might have heard, he feels blood rush downwards. His breeches are constraining by now, and he doesn’t think he can keep them on much longer.

“I need – take them _off_ ,” he manages to say. She looks displeased for a moment when he moves his hand away, but she’s quick at unlacing the breeches and getting rid of them. Then she’s staring down at his achingly hard cock, and for a moment no one moves.

Then she breathes out and wraps one of her hands around it. It’s tentative, as if she has no idea whether she’s doing it right or not, but it’s effective – the moment she touches it, he lets out a relieved moan that can only be proof that she’s indeed doing it right.

“I think,” she says, her fingers giving his erection a tentative stroke, “that leaving you wanting would hardly be proper, wouldn’t it?”

He swallows, giving her a nod in encouragement because he isn’t sure he can even speak right now. She keeps on stroking tentatively, as if she’s trying to find out the most effective way for it to work, and after the first couple of tries she isn’t as tentative anymore. He drags himself up, putting his head against her shoulder, moaning softly against another patch of freckles, and for a moment he wonders how he could have been so worried earlier. He can’t fathom anything possibly going wrong right now.

It takes an enormous force of will to tell her to stop, but he had other plans and he isn’t fifteen anymore. If she agrees with it, of course, but it’s not as if they don’t have time. When he glances down at her crotch her eyes widen in understanding.

“We don’t have to, if you don’t feel –”

“And if I said I wanted to?”

It hits him, a sudden thought – _no one else has ever done this to her_ – and he feels dizzy for a moment; then he drags her down again, crushing their mouths together while he tries to sit up straighter against the headboard. When she tries to flip them again he shakes his head – it would only make things more complicated.

She takes a deep breath before lowering herself over his cock a handful of seconds later, and he tries not to move too much – while he felt how wet she was, it still has to be somewhat painful and he can wait. His hand goes to her shoulder while her fingers tangle in his hair a moment before her forehead touches his. For a moment he can hear the both of them breathing in deep, and then her eyes snap open, more dark pupil than blue, and she rolls her hips uncertainly. But she started to move, and he can’t take it anymore – he thrusts into her, and he does it harder the moment she meets his pace, her hands still tugging at his hair. He puts his hand on her scarred cheek and her lips start to move, but he doesn’t realize that she’s saying his name all over until the fifth time or so, her voice wrecked; he throws his right arm around her shoulders before a last, deep thrust. He feels her clenching around him, her grip becoming slack and her eyes unfocused, and at that he can’t hold it back anymore – he comes buried deep inside her, his spine arching towards her, his good hand clutching at her shoulder, shivering all over. He knows he’s saying her name, too, even if he can barely hear himself.

When he opens his eyes, they still haven’t moved. Her breath is hot against his cheek and he’s clutching her shoulder hard enough to bruise. There’s sweat all over his forehead and all over hers, and her swollen lips are the color of ripe strawberries. When he pulls out of her, her thighs, his cock and the sheet are stained in blood.

“I should clean us up,” he mutters, not really wanting to move, and Brienne probably is of the same opinion. She pushes him back down against the bed, falling down at his side.

“It can wait,” she replies quietly. 

There’s a moment of silence that he doesn’t like and he hurries to break it. “I trust that I haven’t done too bad.”

She almost glares at him, he sees it, but then the corner of her mouth lifts up. “Well, you definitely proved my septa wrong. That should make you satisfied, shouldn’t it?”

He lets out a short laugh, unable to keep it in, and then she’s laughing softly, too.

It’s the moment when he knows that he was worrying for nothing at all.

 

_She’s waiting for him outside the gates, as he had secretly hoped. He keeps his cloak over his left hand as he comes closer, until they’re face to face._

_“It seems that I have to thank you again, wench. How did you even convince him?”_

_Brienne flushes slightly and she looks at her side rather than at him. “For all his faults, he’s a just man. I figured that trying to make him reason was worth a try.”_

_Jaime doesn’t ask her about a certain oath he knows about – after all, she had sworn one to kill_ him _and she hasn’t fulfilled that one, either. He’s almost sorry that for some reason it seems as if of all the oaths she swore, he was the reason she couldn’t keep most of them._

_“Well,” he starts, wishing he had at least thought about what he should say now instead of deciding he’d just make it up as he went along. “Since I can’t wear that cloak anymore, I reckon I’ll have to go back home. Not that anyone will be expecting me, but it might be a nice surprise for them.” After all, the only family he has left is in Dorne now, and not leaving anytime soon if ever. And it’s probably for the better._

_“I understand,” Brienne replies. “Well – then is this –”_

_“I was wondering if you would come with me,” he interrupts, and she stops dead in her tracks. She hadn’t been expecting it._

_“You want me to – why?”_

_He takes a breath, wishing he wasn’t feeling like a green squire all over again, and moves his left arm so that his cloak isn’t covering it anymore._

_Her eyes grow even wider when she sees that he’s holding up a handful of blue flowers._

_“I had a notion that you would hate roses.” He tries to keep his tone light, but it isn’t easy when she’s looking down at his hand as if this was the strangest thing that ever happened to her. Or when he barely knows what he’s doing – he never had to propose to anyone before._

_“You’re – you’re asking me to –”_

_He nods, not sure if he has words or not, and for a moment he wonders what in the seven hells he’s trying to accomplish – it’s not as if marrying him is a good prospect for anyone right now, considering that his family isn’t half as powerful as it used to, or as if he can imagine himself (or her, for that matter) being proper ruling lords. He doesn’t expect it when her hand touches his and she takes the flowers._

_“I’m hardly suited to be a lady,” she objects weakly, but she’s looking at those flowers in the same way she had looked at Oathkeeper the day he gave it to her._

_“And I’m hardly suited to be a lord. Maybe between the two of us we could make half a decent one. And I promise I won’t force you to wear pink gowns.”_

_“Yes then,” she blurts, looking straight at him, her free hand going over his right wrist._

_They kiss a moment later, in plain sight. Someone whistles a moment later, but when Brienne doesn’t pull away, he doesn’t do that either._

End


End file.
